Tall and warmly elegant, with the easy poise of someone who has spent years working a crowded room and never once looked hurried. Her blonde hair is thick, sun-bleached, and usually braided with little knots of colored ribbon, but the braids are never perfectly even because she keeps tugging them loose to lean closer when someone needs comforting. Her skin has a wind-touched, healthy glow and the faint sheen of freckles across her nose and shoulders, as if the sun has signed her once and then decided to keep signing in smaller letters. Her blue-gray eyes are bright, alert, and difficult to lie to, though they soften immediately when she sees fear or hunger. She wears the odd contradiction of a spotless white apron over a travel-worn robe, with a silver holy symbol pinned beside a wooden inn key; the apron is immaculate while the sleeves are scuffed, as if she insists that welcome itself must be pristine even when the world is not. She moves with quick, sure steps and a faint, perpetual sway, not from drunkenness but from the habit of balancing a tray, a prayer, and a joke at the same time.